


Once Upon A Tinder Swipe

by i_got_these_words



Series: Ringside: Ficlets [1]
Category: 19天 - Old先 | 19 Days - Old Xian
Genre: Dubious Consent, Explicit Language, Explicit Sexual Content, Homophobic Language, M/M, Underage Drinking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-02
Updated: 2019-02-02
Packaged: 2019-10-21 03:11:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,204
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17634920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_got_these_words/pseuds/i_got_these_words
Summary: "And all I could think was: Drink me. Eat me. Be the Alice to my Wasteland."This is not a standalone piece. I would suggest reading it alongside Ringside for the full experience.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This ficlet is designed to be read following Ringside: Chapter (23). However, it is not a necessary accompaniment to the original fic. Feel free to skip right past this if you do not have an affinity for ZhanYi. I'm not easily offended. (He says as he cries in a corner.) 
> 
> As the above tags demonstrate, this work delves into some dark themes that many readers will find uncomfortable. It was uncomfortable to write. Having said that, I wanted to explore Jian Yi and Zheng Xi's relationship - past and present. I hope my efforts to be fair and careful in the introduction of some of these complex issues come across.

They said you never forget your first crush.

And it was true. But it also sucked balls. Because Ren Xu was an absolute, unadulterated shitbag. And I was the clueless little gay boy who wanted to hold his sweaty hand as we waited in line for popcorn at the school fair. He’d wanted the toffee flavour. And I’d wanted the chilli butter. But, between us, we only had enough money for one bag. So, like a tool, I lied and proclaimed my undying devotion to all things toffee. Because I really wanted to share a bag with him. And I really, really wanted to hold his hand.

I’d never had a boyfriend.

I’d never even liked a boy before.

I was nine.

And the frisson of excitement that comes with your first crush made me feel bold. And brave. And brazen.

Maybe a little bit beautiful too.

He punched me in the eye for my unwanted advances, which started and ended with me telling him I liked him.

He got hot as he got older. Still a bona fide shitbag. Just bigger. And meaner. He Tian knocked his front teeth out when he’d overheard him call me a queertard in gym class. He was a little less hot after that.

So, yeah, my first crush lasted all of three days.

But I’d remember it forever.

Now, the first time I had sex? _That_ I was a little hazy on.

Sure, I remembered when. And where. And definitely with who. But the important stuff was a pixelated medley of teenage vigour, Russian vodka and the fervour of losing your virginity to captain of the basketball team.

Important stuff like – Did we kiss? Did I cry?

Also, how big was his cock?

And other pivotal stuffs.

I’d never been so off my face. And I hadn’t been since. In fact, the alcohol messed with my warfarin levels so much I now steered clear of it.

That night, though, we were drunk as fuck. And you can bet your sugar tits that pun was intended.

The seniors had graduated that morning. Spent the afternoon celebrating with their families like good little pups. And the night getting smashed with their peers. I hadn’t been a peer. But I was getting smashed just the same. And, given that I still had leftover sweet sixteen cake in the fridge, it was most unwise.

For the most part, the grads didn’t mind having me around.

Zheng Xi didn’t mind having me around. I thought he liked that I was there. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have invited me to the after-after-party. Well, me and the remaining crew that could still walk straight.

I remembered playing drunk Jenga. And shot roulette. And I remembered Zheng Xi saying I’d had enough and that he needed to take me home.

Except he was just as drunk as I was. After stumbling around in the back garden for twenty minutes – partly due to intoxication and partly due to tenebrosity – we’d ended up back in the house.

But he was a persistent son of a gun. He wouldn’t let me join in on Never Have I Ever and instead took me to one of the quieter rooms. We played Spelunky til the skies grew pale. Til we took turns passing out. And poked each other awake again.

I’d hated that he was graduating. That he was moving away.

I hated that when I’d seen him for the very first time, drenched in sweat and doused in post-game fatigue, my immediate thoughts were ‘holy fuck’ and ‘I want to have his babies.’

I hated that I’d never get the chance.

So, as we got comfy on the couch, I might have nuzzled his neck. And nuzzled. And nuzzled. And, when he shifted under me, I might have licked the underside of his jaw. I couldn’t remember what he smelled like. Or what he tasted of.

I vaguely remembered he started doing some nuzzling of his own.

And that, at one point, he had tried to unclasp a non-existent bra.

He’d glided his hands through my hair.

Called me his flat-chested little minx. His words all slurred. And his breath like satin against my skin.

I’d prepped that morning. I prepped most mornings after I turned sixteen. And always on days I knew we would cross paths. Because I was hopelessly horny, and endlessly optimistic.

Zheng Xi had had enough presence of mind to roll on a rubber. Although not enough to slot tab A into tab B.

But I remembered him being gentle. Slow. Whether that was all him or part liquor languor I couldn’t say for sure.

I also remembered how he eventually succumbed to slumber with his dick still inside me. And how fucking sore I was the morning after.

I swore I’d never bottom again.

The walk of shame was less shame and more an urgent need to shower the night off. Also, I didn’t think he was ready to see me with my mascara all crusty and my cat-eye liner all cray.

We met again a couple of times after. Usually in the form of him playing ball with his friends as I admired from the sidelines.

I soon realised he didn’t remember any of it. He barely remembered me being at the after-after-party.

And I felt like shit. If I had been sober enough to remember having sex but he didn’t, did that make it non-consensual? I’d definitely initiated it. Instigated it. Had I taken advantage of his drunkenness? What did that make me? And where did it leave me?

I was messed up for a while after.

I never said goodbye to Zheng Xi before he left. I stopped replying to his texts. I went off WeChat’s radar for a while.

There was only one person I trusted enough to confide in, and even then I didn’t disclose any names. He Tian was an excellent listener. He was also an excellent hugger. He didn’t tell me that it was okay. He didn’t say what he thought was right or wrong. And he didn’t talk about the unsettling spectrum of grey between the two.

What’s more, he didn’t say I should forgive myself. He just said I needed to lay it to rest. That I was on my way to being broken beyond repair if I didn’t stop beating myself up about it.

He’d dissected the entire thing, picked it apart, pelted me with questions.

No, not at any point did I think he wasn’t into it. No, he’d never said no. But, equally, I hadn’t asked.

And the little snippets suggesting he’d mistaken me for some chick? I’d only pieced those together after I’d sobered up. I couldn’t remember him calling me by my name. I couldn’t remember shit.

He Tian had wondered if I thought speaking to Zheng Xi would help. Not in a confessional sort of way. But for answers. And maybe a bit of closure.

I was sixteen, though. And scared. And so, so ashamed.

I could tell that He Tian had been upset that my first time was a mess of morality and temulency. He didn’t say it. He didn’t have to. I can read that kid like a book.

I didn’t have sex again for years.

Not until I got into my first real relationship. And even then, not til we’d moved in together a year later. And, after that fairy tale fractured, I played my celibate card again.

I’d met my ex on Blued and he’d insisted I delete my account when we agreed to be exclusive. I wasn’t keen on signing up again after I’d reclaimed my single status.

Tinder, however, was a different story.

Mostly due to the fact that folk on there were looking for something a little more meaningful than a grope and a fumble. I made a bunch of friends – a lot of them women because the algorithm kept glitching. It was fun.

And, when I swiped right on the jacked dude in badass aviators with the world’s grumpiest cat on his shoulders? Things went from fun to painful.

It started with an instant match. And then a torrent of messages.

> Jian Yi
> 
> Hi
> 
> It’s Zheng Xi
> 
> How are you
> 
> Zhan Zheng Xi From Ying High

Like there could be any other.

If this wasn’t the universe giving me a chance at redemption, she and I were gonna need a one-to-one about mixed signals. Said one-to-one may or may not involve a right hook.


	2. Chapter 2

My hair was being a royal bitch.

Don’t let her _cendré_ tones and lush texture fool you. She relished making my getting-ready routines as painful as possible. Admittedly, my jangled nerves weren’t helping any today.

Giving up on sophistication and the slicked-back look, I settled for double Dutch braids.

I was meeting Zheng Xi at The Verdict, a classy 1920s New York-inspired bar that had separate menus for champagne and caviar. Exactly the kind of pretentious and over-priced place I avoided like the plague. Mainly because their clientele tended to consist of opulent snobs in CEO attire who regarded me with culturally-inculcated contempt but leered when their companions weren’t looking.

Following a splash of lip and cheek tint, I shimmied into pleated dress pants and skinny suspenders, the former purchased specifically because it complimented the callipygian figure I owed to the Youtube yoginis. I rolled the sleeves of my band-collar shirt up to my elbows. Donned a soft grey baker boy cap. Took it off. Put it back on again.

I didn’t own a pair of classic Oxfords – that was some sacrilegious shit my wardrobe would not survive – so I settled for my spectator brogues.

For the last few weeks, Zheng Xi and I had been texting each other on and off. I didn’t wanna come on too strong, so I didn’t suggest we meet up. But then I didn’t have to.

He was back in the city but flying out again tonight. He’d asked if I was free.

I wasn’t. Ergo, I went right ahead and cleared my schedule. Swapped the night shift with an amiable colleague. Did a happy dance in my room. And then another in the shower – and almost chipped a tooth.

Parking downtown would have been a Malthusian nightmare. And, given my tendency to road-rage and current nervous energy, I opted for a cab. The driver was a middle-aged man who managed to distract me with his rant on China’s recent economic slowdown and its impact on the taxi trade. He also said he really liked my hair.

I might have overtipped.

Cherry wood. Dark leather. And vintage trimmings. The Verdict paid homage to the prohibition era without trying too hard. The spice of rye, bourbon, and burning cigars suffused the air. It was pleasant. As was the unobtrusive ragtime playing in the background. What wasn’t so pleasant was not recognising a person in sight.

I’d been under the impression that Zheng Xi would be there before me. I glanced over at the handful of three-piece-suited men in the lounge area, who had likely lumbered in from the nearby financial district. He wasn’t among them.

I could see the bartender in the bowtie consider me with a curious gaze and I wondered if I wasn’t cis enough for the establishment. Scratch that. I knew that I wasn’t.

I was ready to see myself out when Bowtie winked at me. Indicated a pair of tufted armchairs with a subtle tilt of his chin.

Wow.

Okay.

Making my way past weathered timber and ornate mirrors, I took a seat. Righted myself as the plush fabric tried to swallow me whole.

“Jian Yi.”

His voice was like a French kiss.

Electric. Carnal. A trance of tongue.

And I just.

Insta-melted.

“Sorry,” he said with a debonair grin that had withstood the evolution from darling boy to delicious man. His Tinder photos hadn’t done him an ounce of justice. “I was in the gents. Did you find the place okay?”

I attempted to stand, only to stumble back into the seat.

With a soft chuckle, Zheng Xi offered a hand. Helped me up.

My intention had been to embrace him. Maybe. Or at least greet him with some grace. But instead we stood there, my hand in his, our eyes searching for the ghosts of our past.

That and, also, I was checking him out.

“You got taller,” he observed. His eyes still searching.

Squeezing his hand, I hauled myself onto my tiptoes. Bussed his cheek.

He smelled like a saddle – sage, gunpowder and sandalwood. And it kinda made me want to bury my nose in his armpit.

Okay, more than just kinda.

“So did you,” I replied, before I did something stupid. See: aforementioned nose-burying.

We parted. And he seated himself in the armchair opposite. A stunningly put-together specimen of manhood.

His hair was darker than it used to be, a taper fade giving way to an artistic chaos at the top of his head. I noticed that, like me, he’d ignored the formal dress code that was de-rigueur at The Verdict. Decked out in a cotton blazer and white court sneakers, he’d chosen a close-fitting crewneck that clung to contours I quite fancied clinging to myself.

“I’ll pick a better place next time,” Zheng Xi lamented. “Somewhere more casual. Comfortable.”

“These seats are way comfy.” I don’t know why I thought I needed to jiggle my butt in my seat to prove it. “Do you normally hang out here?”

“Only for business. I had a meeting with a client before you got here.”

“I thought you worked for the Hong Kong police?”

“I do. It pays the rent. But freelance pays for my hobbies.”

“I didn’t know video games were breaking banks now,” I teased. But then I remembered Spelunky and wish I’d kept my mouth shut.

“Nah, not games. I’ll show you sometime,” he volunteered. A little sheepish. “Jian Yi, you look really –”

“Evening, gentlemen.” A younger, coltish version of Bowtie appeared before us. “Would you care to peruse the menu?”

I figured it would not be unreasonable to check that a virgin Between the Sheets was on the list before I announced my questionable taste in mocktails.

It wasn’t.

“An iced tea with a twist,” I decided, like it was tradition at a modern speakeasy to order a non-boozy beverage.

“Make that two,” Zheng Xi added. “And a platter of your sandwiches please.”

“Certainly, sir.” Having collected our menus, Bowtie Junior sidled away.

“You aren’t drinking, Xixi?” I asked.

“I tend not to if I’m flying. Also, I can’t remember the last time I had iced tea,” Zheng Xi admitted. The silver fractals in his eyes flickered. “I’ve missed that. No one calls me Xixi but you.”

A teenage Zheng Xi would have been too reticent to reveal something so personal. But not this man. Effortlessly urbane and tastefully unabashed.

I reached for a convivial smile, because the one that currently threatened to break free was all shades of wrong – bittersweet and brittle. I’d missed out on watching him grow up. I’d missed out on growing up with him.

“I don’t drink anymore,” I professed. He’d said he’d missed me. And all I could think was: Drink me. Eat me. Be the Alice to my Wasteland.

“No?”

“It messes with my meds.” And my mind. Except the effect he was having on me seemed so much worse. Why couldn’t anything in my life just be fucking simple.

A tray with enough finger sandwiches to feed the occupants of the bar and then some landed between us with a reserved rustle. The ice in our tea rang against the crystal of the glass, like wind chimes warding off my deleterious thoughts.

“How is that ticker of yours doing?” Zheng Xi inquired. “I remember the sick scar you have.”

He did?

“Y-you do?” I stammered. In the years following the surgery, I was very self-conscious about the scar that highlighted where my sternum had been cracked open. These days, less so. It was a reminder of what I’d been through and how I’d survived. Of good fortune, privilege and the human right to health. But, aside from He Tian, none of my classmates had seen my chest post-op.

Unless…

“Graduation night,” I whispered.

Looking down at his hands, his cheeks now more tinted than mine, Zheng Xi sighed. “I was so hammered; I don’t remember much of that night. But you started avoiding me after.”

My mouth went dry. My warrior heart tripped over a beat.

I wasn’t ready to have this conversation.

Not yet.

I wasn’t ready to lose something I didn't even have.

“And,” Zheng Xi continued, his gaze still averted. “Fragments of that night occasionally come back me. But it’s like I'm seeing them through a fog. I don’t really know what’s real and what’s made-up.” He took a deep breath. “I know that… I woke up that morning with a condom on.” He looked up at me. “I could smell you. On the couch. On my shirt. On my hands.”

I broke eye contact as a film of tears distorted my vision.

“I don’t know how far I went,” I heard him murmur. “I can’t believe – I’m sorry, Jian Yi.”

My breath hitched.

“You deserved better. Deserve better. Being drunk doesn’t excuse what I did. I thought I was better than that.”

My head snapped up. And I squinted at the swaying image of him.

“What?” I croaked. “You didn’t _do_ anything. It was all me.”

“You were a kid.”

“We were _both_ kids,” I shot back, my voice stronger. “I remember. I remember… wanting you. And you were there. Right there. So I… I took you.”

“Jian Yi –”

“ _Don’t_.”

“I wanted you just as much.”

Zheng Xi stood up then. He grabbed the hand he’d taken earlier. Only this time he wasn’t so gentle. He pulled me to my feet. Crushed me against his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he breathed against my ear. “I’m sorry I did that to you. I’m sorry I was too much of a coward to apologise to you sooner.”

“Stop saying you’re sorry,” I warbled. “Don’t take my guilt from me and turn it into yours.”

His arms around me tightened. And I dug my fingers into the fabric of his shirt in return. We trembled together. A whimpering, wet mess.

“You were a friend. And I treated you like… something less than that.” He pulled back a little so he could hook a finger under my chin. Nudge it up. This time our eyes weren’t searching for ghosts. Just forgiveness.

“I value our friendship. And I value you, Jian Yi. As a person.” His Adam’s apple twitched as he paused. “I’m not gay. And I don’t know why I…”

I could see the distress and disarray disquieting the storm in his eyes. “Hey. I get it. And, yeah, you were totally tanked. Not thinking… straight or whatever.” I hated myself for saying it. As if saying it aloud cemented it as truth.

Zheng Xi closed his eyes. Rested his forehead against mine.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“I’m sorry, too.”

I'm sorry that I still want you to want me as much as I do you.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please let me know if it is worth me pursuing future ficlets to supplement Ringside.  
> Also, I'm sorry if any of this content was hurtful.  
> Thank you for reading x


End file.
